My daughter is turning 1 tomorrow. My little panda has 5 teeth (2 on top, 3 on the bottom) and is walking, much to her delight. 99% of the time, she is the sweetest, most loving child I’ve ever met. Her brother adores her and she loves him more than anything else. It’s occasionally hard to watch the two of them together without tearing up and laughing so hard I’m in danger of hurting myself. When I thought about having kids, I never imagined watching my almost-one-year old dive bombing her 7-year old brother, and him being so tickled by it that he laughed while she did it, making sure she didn’t hurt herself in the process. Far from having to keep him from running rough shod over her, I find myself constantly reminding him to not let her hurt him when I’m not watching.

Her birthday has me realizing that I’m staring down the barrel of a somewhat significant birthday. Granted, it’s still a few months off but I can’t help but feel the pressure. I’m not big on celebrating birthdays. Dinner with people who love me, maybe a cake, are all I really want. Of course, gifts are always appreciated, especially those of cash, but time and company are the things I want the most from people. But what do I want from myself?

I never expected to be at this point in my life. Kids were never a consideration when I was planning my future, which is probably one of God’s biggest jokes. “You can’t stand kids? Well, here’s these two, I dare you to do anything but love them.”

I find myself designing more children’s clothing and homey doodads that I wouldn’t have ever thought I’d contemplate. (Aprons? Really? Well, yes, really, and they’re really cute.) I’m also finding myself drawn to more ethereal things, and aching to make things that make me weep with their beauty. I look at some of my fabric designs and find them wanting because they can’t match what I see in my head. I have to go back to the realization that I never considered myself an artist, even when my greatest ambition was to write, and keep writing, and publish enough books to support myself.

So, what do I want? I expect little, and desire even less, from ‘the world’ that we live in. Nobody owes me anything and I like to keep it that way. From myself, I expect brilliance, something I can’t hope to achieve on my own.

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One response to “Growing older . . . and up?”

You are exceptionally brilliant, smart, beautiful and I love you very much! You are an amazing artist, whether you see yourself as one or not. And as for your children, I only hope my future ones turn out to be half as great as them! I'm sorry I can't be there for Squishy's birthday but I am sending love (and soon a present lol) all the way from New York 🙂 As for that dreaded birthday of yours…New York is a wonderful place to visit 😉 I love you!